These three little words carry several different connotations. It could be a sweet plea from a mother to her child about crossing the street. It could also be a positive way of telling someone the good things their future has in store. However more often than not, when you hear this as a pregnant woman it comes out with flames attached, one eyebrow raised and a sinister chuckle. Usually the person leers at you from a peripheral angle because if they look you directly in the eye, lasers would surely beam and make you explode.
Don’t get me wrong – I LOVE hearing each woman’s story about pregnancy, labor and child rearing. I figure anything I can learn about my baby before he (yep, it’s a he this entry) blesses me with his presence, the better. What really irks me is the constant stress on the negatives. A friend asked me the other day how I’ve been feeling. I replied with the same complaint all pregnant women face – exhaustion. Her immediate retort? “Oh you just wait! You think you aren’t sleeping NOW? Pfsh.”
Really people? Do you have to rain on my parade? 1. You asked me how I felt. 2. I told you. 3. You shot laser beams at me. Seriously?
Here’s the truth – I know parts of parenthood just plain suck, particularly in the first couple of months. But why do moms spend so much time talking about the pains and less of the blessings? Just think about it the next time you complain about anything for that matter. Most of us are fortunate beyond our understanding…so why lament in our hardships?
Rant complete.
Now for Baby Welly…I had a check up last week aka an interrogation about my health. The nurse actually told me “this is one of the most boring health reviews I’ve had.” Which is good news I suppose. The only caveat was that my Rubella vaccination has worn off. Meaning: if you have German Measles, stay away from me. My weight gain leveled off – I gained 5 pounds in the first trimester which is on the high end but still on target. Thank God my boobs stopped growing for a little bit (says the wife – Joe may have a different take on the fun-bag situation).
Today I am 12 weeks and 5 days along. My pants / skirts are definitely fitting more snuggly. My hips are widening and my belly is fuller. No “bump” to speak of but I’m thicker all over. I’ve delayed posting pictures until there’s a noticeable belly. But stay tuned! I’ll be fat before you know it!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Once upon a time in Mexico...
Once upon a time in Mexico…
“I was having some problems with my teeth, and the dentist in T or C (Truth or Consequences, New Mexico) wanted to charge an arm and a leg to have a couple pulled. I thought it was a rip-off. So, I took my truck down to Mexico to see how much it would cost to have them pulled. Turns out those Mexicans are quite reasonable. Now his tools may not have been state-of-the-art, but I got a great deal!”
This is just one of the true-ish, totally-nutso real life accounts that my late grandfather shared. My aptly-named Grandpa Burl was a man larger than life. As a military man, father, grandfather, and husband, he far exceeded everyone’s expectations of love and service. He drove a truck for years which was wonderful for us as kids. Every once and awhile he popped by our California home off of Highway 101 with some sort of quirky treasure, $2 for each of us (which was like a million dollars at the time), and crazy stories such as the one above. All he expected in return was a nice cup of black coffee and conversation.
While these recollections stick out of my Grandpa Burl, the most poignant memory is his love for my grandma. My grandmother is the most long-suffering, patient, and kind woman I’ve ever met. It was my grandpa’s mission in life to test that long-suffering as much as humanly possible. Which I’m certain he did until his last day! In all seriousness, while he drove my grandma absolutely nuts, he made up for his antics with love. Pure love. Real love. His heart may be eternally rested now, but I know that it will forever belong where it should – with my grandma.
This is the second grandparent we’ve lost in a year. My 1-1/2 year old niece, Brooklynn, will forever have my late maternal grandma guiding her from heaven. It is my sincere hope that little Welly will have Grandpa Burl’s guidance throughout his/her life…well, except when it comes to dentistry ;-)
Rest in peace, Grandpa. Your presence may have left us temporarily, but your essence and influence will always remain.
“I was having some problems with my teeth, and the dentist in T or C (Truth or Consequences, New Mexico) wanted to charge an arm and a leg to have a couple pulled. I thought it was a rip-off. So, I took my truck down to Mexico to see how much it would cost to have them pulled. Turns out those Mexicans are quite reasonable. Now his tools may not have been state-of-the-art, but I got a great deal!”
This is just one of the true-ish, totally-nutso real life accounts that my late grandfather shared. My aptly-named Grandpa Burl was a man larger than life. As a military man, father, grandfather, and husband, he far exceeded everyone’s expectations of love and service. He drove a truck for years which was wonderful for us as kids. Every once and awhile he popped by our California home off of Highway 101 with some sort of quirky treasure, $2 for each of us (which was like a million dollars at the time), and crazy stories such as the one above. All he expected in return was a nice cup of black coffee and conversation.
While these recollections stick out of my Grandpa Burl, the most poignant memory is his love for my grandma. My grandmother is the most long-suffering, patient, and kind woman I’ve ever met. It was my grandpa’s mission in life to test that long-suffering as much as humanly possible. Which I’m certain he did until his last day! In all seriousness, while he drove my grandma absolutely nuts, he made up for his antics with love. Pure love. Real love. His heart may be eternally rested now, but I know that it will forever belong where it should – with my grandma.
This is the second grandparent we’ve lost in a year. My 1-1/2 year old niece, Brooklynn, will forever have my late maternal grandma guiding her from heaven. It is my sincere hope that little Welly will have Grandpa Burl’s guidance throughout his/her life…well, except when it comes to dentistry ;-)
Rest in peace, Grandpa. Your presence may have left us temporarily, but your essence and influence will always remain.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Week 8
Da-doom da-doom…da-doom da doom…
It was music to my ears.
Today we had our first ultrasound. And yep – there’s a baby in there! Baby Welly (we’ll say “she” and “her” in this entry for simplicity sake) is about 1-1/2 cm long and has a strong heart rate of 158 bpm. She was nestled softly in the uterine wall, resting peacefully. In my mind, Welly was laying there with her hands crossed behind her head and her right ankle resting on her left knee. She may have even been smoking a pipe. Tobacco-less of course.
This was also our first “official” doctor’s visit. Joe accompanied me and I am so happy he did.
Station 1: Height and weight. Joe says “You’re only 5’7? There’s got to be another ½” in there..” To add to my dwarf-like feeling, I’ve put on 5 pounds already! Not good. That’s supposed to happen in the next couple of weeks. I guess eating carbs all the time finally caught up. Dang it.
Station 2: Waiting Room. Insert elevator music here.
Station 3: Ultrasound Room. They waste NO time! I was off with my clothes and WHA-BAM! There’s the baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I wanted to look at Joe but I couldn’t. I was absolutely mesmerized. We haven’t put down the ultrasound pics yet!
Station 4: Waiting Room. Insert angry patient who has been waiting and rolling her eyes every time I’m called. Get over yourself Gaga.
Station 5: Examination Room. Poor Joe. He had no idea what he was in for!
Station 6: Draw blood. They’re actually testing me for Chlamydia and Gonorrhea…obviously these people know very little about my past. Apparently it’s standard procedure.
Station 7: Hardees for a hot ham n cheese. I was obviously distraught about those 5 pounds.
Station 8: McDonalds for a snack size McFlurry…ok, TOMORROW I’ll eat better.
All in all it was a glorious day. Seeing that little flicker of light made everything real…I think more so for Joe than me. It was a beautiful experience to share. His excitement grows everyday as does mine. We are really excited to meet this babe!
It was music to my ears.
Today we had our first ultrasound. And yep – there’s a baby in there! Baby Welly (we’ll say “she” and “her” in this entry for simplicity sake) is about 1-1/2 cm long and has a strong heart rate of 158 bpm. She was nestled softly in the uterine wall, resting peacefully. In my mind, Welly was laying there with her hands crossed behind her head and her right ankle resting on her left knee. She may have even been smoking a pipe. Tobacco-less of course.
This was also our first “official” doctor’s visit. Joe accompanied me and I am so happy he did.
Station 1: Height and weight. Joe says “You’re only 5’7? There’s got to be another ½” in there..” To add to my dwarf-like feeling, I’ve put on 5 pounds already! Not good. That’s supposed to happen in the next couple of weeks. I guess eating carbs all the time finally caught up. Dang it.
Station 2: Waiting Room. Insert elevator music here.
Station 3: Ultrasound Room. They waste NO time! I was off with my clothes and WHA-BAM! There’s the baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I wanted to look at Joe but I couldn’t. I was absolutely mesmerized. We haven’t put down the ultrasound pics yet!
Station 4: Waiting Room. Insert angry patient who has been waiting and rolling her eyes every time I’m called. Get over yourself Gaga.
Station 5: Examination Room. Poor Joe. He had no idea what he was in for!
Station 6: Draw blood. They’re actually testing me for Chlamydia and Gonorrhea…obviously these people know very little about my past. Apparently it’s standard procedure.
Station 7: Hardees for a hot ham n cheese. I was obviously distraught about those 5 pounds.
Station 8: McDonalds for a snack size McFlurry…ok, TOMORROW I’ll eat better.
All in all it was a glorious day. Seeing that little flicker of light made everything real…I think more so for Joe than me. It was a beautiful experience to share. His excitement grows everyday as does mine. We are really excited to meet this babe!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Blasted Hangovers
Flashback: 2003 Tri-Sigma Formal After Party – White Residence. Kevin Strickland (now ordained Lutheran minister) pouring me shot after shot of Jagermeister, chased by PJ made with some indiscernible cheap clear liquor. Result: A solid round of hiccups that could wake up an entire hall (KJ, you remember) and Gretchen holding my hair back from the porcelain throne. Oh and who could forget the next day’s formidable reminder of the previous night’s antics: THE HANGOVER.
One of the bittersweet results of becoming pregnant is forgoing alcohol. I have to admit, it has been kind of nice to have a reason to abstain from drinking. Given, I’m only 3 weeks deep into knowing there’s a tadpole forming inside of me --- my sentiments are sure to change as time progresses. But with this cleansing, I thought that I would be free of alcohol’s ugly next-day-aftertaste.
Weeks 4, 5 and most of 6 I felt fantastic. Tired, but literally so excited I could hardly sleep. Week 7 is on the way and has reared its unsightly head with nausea. Basically, it feels like you’re hungover. All day. Which is awesome. Most of me considers it a blessing – obviously my body is working hard to nurture the baby. But part of me is just irritated that the prior night isn’t fuzzy with hilarious anecdotes that I can at least put in the memory box.
Other symptoms:
- Geico Caveman Syndrome: The hair on my head has grown thicker and faster than ever before. As has the hair on my legs and under my arms. Booo.
- Metallica: Not the band, but it’s what I’m calling the ever-present metallic taste in my mouth from the influx of hormones.
- The Anna Nichole: My.boobs.are.enormous. We’re talking back to the size they were in 8th grade, haha. Given, my enormous is humble at best, but they’re sore and definitely engorged.
- Rage Against the Machine: I am typically a happy person, however occasionally I want to slam people’s heads on my desk repeatedly and actually have a serious inclination to do so. That’s normal, right?
- Rip Van Winkle: All I want to do is sleep. All of the time. Nights are pretty restless right now. I think the baby uses that time to grow and my hormones spike at 3:00 am. Another awesome side effect.
- The Oprah Disorder: Some days I eat extremely healthy. Other days my diet consists of bacon, egg and cheese bagels and donuts. I’m still learning control, but it’s tough when you feel crappy. Not to mention I’m feeding an M&M, not an 8 pound baby just yet. I’m only supposed to consume an additional 300-500 calories a day which isn’t a lot!
In all seriousness, these symptoms are minor in comparison to the big picture. These funny signs are just a way of my baby telling me he/she is growing. Joe has been an absolute sweetheart through it all. Seeing the look of anticipation and love on his face melts any pain or nausea right away. Though that sentence could have induced nausea for some of you ;-) It’s ok. You can stop reading now.
One of the bittersweet results of becoming pregnant is forgoing alcohol. I have to admit, it has been kind of nice to have a reason to abstain from drinking. Given, I’m only 3 weeks deep into knowing there’s a tadpole forming inside of me --- my sentiments are sure to change as time progresses. But with this cleansing, I thought that I would be free of alcohol’s ugly next-day-aftertaste.
Weeks 4, 5 and most of 6 I felt fantastic. Tired, but literally so excited I could hardly sleep. Week 7 is on the way and has reared its unsightly head with nausea. Basically, it feels like you’re hungover. All day. Which is awesome. Most of me considers it a blessing – obviously my body is working hard to nurture the baby. But part of me is just irritated that the prior night isn’t fuzzy with hilarious anecdotes that I can at least put in the memory box.
Other symptoms:
- Geico Caveman Syndrome: The hair on my head has grown thicker and faster than ever before. As has the hair on my legs and under my arms. Booo.
- Metallica: Not the band, but it’s what I’m calling the ever-present metallic taste in my mouth from the influx of hormones.
- The Anna Nichole: My.boobs.are.enormous. We’re talking back to the size they were in 8th grade, haha. Given, my enormous is humble at best, but they’re sore and definitely engorged.
- Rage Against the Machine: I am typically a happy person, however occasionally I want to slam people’s heads on my desk repeatedly and actually have a serious inclination to do so. That’s normal, right?
- Rip Van Winkle: All I want to do is sleep. All of the time. Nights are pretty restless right now. I think the baby uses that time to grow and my hormones spike at 3:00 am. Another awesome side effect.
- The Oprah Disorder: Some days I eat extremely healthy. Other days my diet consists of bacon, egg and cheese bagels and donuts. I’m still learning control, but it’s tough when you feel crappy. Not to mention I’m feeding an M&M, not an 8 pound baby just yet. I’m only supposed to consume an additional 300-500 calories a day which isn’t a lot!
In all seriousness, these symptoms are minor in comparison to the big picture. These funny signs are just a way of my baby telling me he/she is growing. Joe has been an absolute sweetheart through it all. Seeing the look of anticipation and love on his face melts any pain or nausea right away. Though that sentence could have induced nausea for some of you ;-) It’s ok. You can stop reading now.
Monday, August 2, 2010
I knew it!
So what's happened since my oh-so-recent post in September of 2008.....oh yeah, I GOT PREGNANT. Kind of a big deal, wouldn't you say? It's enough to prompt my inner thoughts and share with my co-blogees/blogettes. Self-aggrandizing? Yes. Will it be difficult without my wine? You bet your ass. Will it be exciting? Probably not. But I hope to make it at least a little comical.
For those of you just tuning in to the life that is mine...errr...ours, here's a little FAQ for you:
1. "Were you planning?"
Spoken answer: "Yes - we were planning on starting late this summer."
Inner-evil answer: "If you really want to know, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and some pizza did the trick."
2. "When are you due?"
Spoken answer: "Late March or early April."
Smart-ass response that I wish I could say: "I'll be getting fat around late fall."
3. "How do you feel?"
Spoken answer: "Luckily not nauseated at all, just tired."
Actually: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
4. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"
Spoken answer: "A healthy baby is all we care about."
Truth: A healthy baby is all we care about...and we're hoping for "a" more than one sex over the other.
It's been really fun telling all of those we love about the pregnancy. Most are worried that we're sharing the news too soon, but I have a good feeling about the pregnancy and I take very good care of myself. In a less optmistic light, if the baby is unhealthy, it will take care of itself whether I tell people or not. For now, I consider it my duty to take care of little Van Welly and will do just that.
Reactions have been all over the board. Our parents were of course thrilled...particularly Joe's mom who has been knitting baby booties and blankets since we were juniors in high school. And dropping not-so-subtle hints (she left baby booties in our bed one weekend! haha). Our siblings are equally excited. The most common response we have gotten is "I knew it!"
Really? You knew it? Man I could have saved $14.95 on the three pregnancy tests I took.
And yes, I took 3.
Reaction to the first one:
I call bullshit.
Reaction to the second one:
I must have peed on the stick incorrectly...
Reaction to the third:
There's only so many ways you can pee on a stick....
Reaction to the fourth (at the Dr's office):
Holy crap there's an alien inside of me.
The most fun was telling Joe. He got home that night at around 9:00. The minute he walked in the door, I sent him a picture of all three positive tests. I could see the shock and confusion all over his face when he checked it. Absolutely priceless. What a wonderful father that man will become....
For those of you just tuning in to the life that is mine...errr...ours, here's a little FAQ for you:
1. "Were you planning?"
Spoken answer: "Yes - we were planning on starting late this summer."
Inner-evil answer: "If you really want to know, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and some pizza did the trick."
2. "When are you due?"
Spoken answer: "Late March or early April."
Smart-ass response that I wish I could say: "I'll be getting fat around late fall."
3. "How do you feel?"
Spoken answer: "Luckily not nauseated at all, just tired."
Actually: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
4. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"
Spoken answer: "A healthy baby is all we care about."
Truth: A healthy baby is all we care about...and we're hoping for "a" more than one sex over the other.
It's been really fun telling all of those we love about the pregnancy. Most are worried that we're sharing the news too soon, but I have a good feeling about the pregnancy and I take very good care of myself. In a less optmistic light, if the baby is unhealthy, it will take care of itself whether I tell people or not. For now, I consider it my duty to take care of little Van Welly and will do just that.
Reactions have been all over the board. Our parents were of course thrilled...particularly Joe's mom who has been knitting baby booties and blankets since we were juniors in high school. And dropping not-so-subtle hints (she left baby booties in our bed one weekend! haha). Our siblings are equally excited. The most common response we have gotten is "I knew it!"
Really? You knew it? Man I could have saved $14.95 on the three pregnancy tests I took.
And yes, I took 3.
Reaction to the first one:
I call bullshit.
Reaction to the second one:
I must have peed on the stick incorrectly...
Reaction to the third:
There's only so many ways you can pee on a stick....
Reaction to the fourth (at the Dr's office):
Holy crap there's an alien inside of me.
The most fun was telling Joe. He got home that night at around 9:00. The minute he walked in the door, I sent him a picture of all three positive tests. I could see the shock and confusion all over his face when he checked it. Absolutely priceless. What a wonderful father that man will become....
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Great Expectations
Romantic movies place unrealistic expectations on relationships and gender roles. "PS I Love You" was just another reminder of this maxim. As I sat on my couch with a snotty nose and nothing better to wipe away my sorrows than a dirty sleeve, I found myself comparing Gerard Butler (aka hot Irish dead guy in movie) to my husband. Is that even fair? I’m comparing my completely real-life husband to a scripted dead character who just so happens to have a six pack. Why can’t my husband sing songs to me in a pub and chase me down? Why isn’t he more sensitive? Why didn’t we meet in the grassy fields of Ireland? Why can’t he adore me like he adores her?
And here’s the truth: That guy in real life obnoxious. Think about it – you know the guy. He says the right things and makes everyone believe that he throws petals down whereth she walketh. But guess what? That guy still farts when he gets into bed. And laughs about it. Every night. As if it’s the joke that never ends. If he’s not doing it, don’t fool yourselves girls – it’s coming. And if it doesn’t…well, take a second look into his closet and make the metro vs. homo evaluation. Because real men stink!
So while I still find myself pondering those questions post a romantic movie session, I am grounded in the fact that even Gerard Butler farts. And he’s probably an ass for that matter (pun completely intended—look at his last name!). So for now (and forever), I’ll take my gaseous-clumsily romantic-light hearted Joe over any screen enhanced and scripted emulation of the term “husband.”
And here’s the truth: That guy in real life obnoxious. Think about it – you know the guy. He says the right things and makes everyone believe that he throws petals down whereth she walketh. But guess what? That guy still farts when he gets into bed. And laughs about it. Every night. As if it’s the joke that never ends. If he’s not doing it, don’t fool yourselves girls – it’s coming. And if it doesn’t…well, take a second look into his closet and make the metro vs. homo evaluation. Because real men stink!
So while I still find myself pondering those questions post a romantic movie session, I am grounded in the fact that even Gerard Butler farts. And he’s probably an ass for that matter (pun completely intended—look at his last name!). So for now (and forever), I’ll take my gaseous-clumsily romantic-light hearted Joe over any screen enhanced and scripted emulation of the term “husband.”
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